


Deal in the Six | Family Ties

by TrulyMightyPotato



Series: Royal Flush [12]
Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: at least a few, revealing secrets, sad people are sad, updates on some of our faves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-02
Updated: 2018-02-02
Packaged: 2019-03-12 13:42:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,716
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13548522
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TrulyMightyPotato/pseuds/TrulyMightyPotato
Summary: Tom has a lot of unanswered questions about Mark and what happened the day the speakeasy burned, but he has nobody to answer them. Or does he?





	Deal in the Six | Family Ties

_ February 10, 1924 _

Tom wasn’t sure he was ready to guard Kjellberg through one of his rich person parties, but here he was, watching the setup. The last time he had attended one of these parties it was as a guest, not an employee. But so much had happened since then. Mark had  _ died _ since then.

And with every look of contempt or pity he received over the night, he’d be reminded of that fact.

“It’s been a while since Felix threw a party,” Ken commented quietly.

Tom jumped. He hadn’t noticed Felix’s second bodyguard coming up behind him.

“How long?”

“Since before Christmas. Last one...” Ken sighed, gazing absently into the room being set up. “It was the last one where Cry was still around. He’d be out there, helping as a waiter and keeping eyes on the crowd for danger.”

Tom hesitated, then sighed himself. “M-  _ he _ was still alive the last time I attended one of these.”

“It’s been a rough couple of months for both of us.”

Tom just nodded, returning his gaze to the ballroom.

Rough was an understatement. Ken had lost one of his coworkers and best friends, and Tom had lost his brother, his job, his family business, and his reputation—all in one awful night. He’d spent time in jail, where he’d had to see the ugly side of Boston’s judicial system.

In jail, at least, he hadn’t had to look around and see memories of Mark everywhere.

It was absurd, heartbreaking, to realize how many things Mark had been involved in in the community.

How hadn’t Tom noticed Mark getting involved in a speakeasy,  _ running  _ a speakeasy? When had he gotten involved in illegal activities? What else had been going on? Had he been involved in a mob somehow?

How well had Tom really known his own brother by the time he died?

Now that the questions had started, they wouldn’t stop coming.

Who had burned down the Tiny Box? It had been obvious arson, but not too many people had gotten hurt. Daniel Howell had been badly burned, and Mark and Amy and Kathryn and Ethan had all died in the fire, but... that was it. There was no mass casualty he would’ve expected from a busy speakeasy going up in flames. What could that mean? Howell had been there on request of the temporary chief of police to cover the news story, but... nobody else had been hurt? Had they had warning that they needed to get out? Had there been an emergency plan of some sort that let everyone else get out unharmed? Or had Mark and the Tiny Box really been innocent of the illegal things they were being accused of? Could MatPat have been wrong?

Tom was snapped out of his thoughts by Ken’s hand coming down heavily on his shoulder.

“Come on, let’s go back. We need to go over the plans for the night once more, and then I’m heading home to Mary.”

“Are you sure I can handle this myself?”

Ken nodded. “You won’t be the only bodyguard out there tonight—granted, the other one will be guarding one of Felix’s friends, but he’s a competent fellow.”

“That’s... not actually reassuring.”

“Come on,” Ken repeated, pulling Tom away from the wall and steering him down the hall.

Except, when they walked into the room where Kjellberg was waiting, they found two other people already standing there.

Tom froze. 

It did take him a moment to recognize PJ Liguori, but they’d at least brushed shoulders before. They’d never actually spoken to each other, but he’d seen the taller man around.

He looked older since Tom had last seen him, like he was carrying a heavy weight of some kind—a bit worse for the wear, but doing decently.

The other man, Tom didn’t recognize. He was short, even shorter than Mark had been, but there was no hiding his obvious strength as he walked and shifted position to cross his arms.

This was not a man Tom wanted to get in a fight with.

“Evening, Fischbach,” Kjellberg said without looking up from whatever paperwork he was looking over.

Liguori visibly tensed at the name, then looked over at Tom.

Tom couldn’t quite place all the emotions that flashed across his face in the instant before he regained control of his face, but the shock, grief, and surprise were unmistakable.

“Evening, Kjellberg. Setup’s almost complete.”

“Thank you.”

Tom just dipped his head.

Kjellberg looked up then, as if remembering something. “Ah, yes. PJ Liguori, and his bodyguard Jordan Maron. PJ, Jordan, this is Thomas Fischbach.”

Curt nods went around the room.

“You might as well get to know Maron fairly well, since PJ and I are going to be sticking close to each other through the night.”

Tom just dipped his head again.

That didn’t mean he missed the surprised look Liguori sent Kjellberg’s way.

He desperately wanted to know why—clearly, Liguori and Kjellberg had been doing business when he’d walked in—but it wasn’t his place to ask, so he didn’t.

Instead, he walked over to Maron, trailed closely by Ken.

Maron examined him quietly, something sad in his eyes, but uncrossed his arms as they approached.

“It’s a big party,” Ken warned. “And neither of you know all the entrances and exits to the place.”

“You’re not reassuring me much here, Ken,” Maron frowned. “I’ve been coming here for how long, and I  _ still _ don’t know them all?”

“Not by a long shot.”

“Fun.”

“It’ll be fine.” Ken shrugged. “Here, let’s go over exits.”

As the three bodyguards talked, PJ glanced over at them. Specifically, at Tom.

“He looks so much like Mark,” he murmured. He’d lost so many friends that night, and now that he was faced with such a serious look-a-like, memories were surfacing: the drink Mark had given him that one night after the breakup, playing the bass at Freddy’s, the laughter, the chatter, the clink of glasses, the band.

Jack.

Felix sighed, closing his binder. “I know. I know, Peej. I see his face every day. He lives here.”

“He  _ lives _ here?” PJ sent an incredulous look at Felix. “Why would you do that to yourself?”

Felix shrugged. “It’s the least I can do for Mark.”

PJ just stared at him helplessly before turning his gaze back to Tom.

He seemed so much older than the last time PJ had seen him. Of course he did, he’d lost his job and his brother in one day, but...

“Peej...” Felix hesitated. “You should tell him.”

“Tell him what?”

“...That you knew Mark from Freddy’s.”

PJ gave him an even look. “He’s an ex-judge, Felix. I’m not that stupid.”

Felix shrugged. “He’s not any more. And he already knows I frequented it. Hasn’t done anything about that.”

“Felix!”

“Look, PJ- he’s Mark’s brother. He deserves to know.”

“I’m not admitting involvement in illegal activities to him.”

Felix crossed his arms. “If you don’t, I will.”

PJ squinted at him.

Felix just reopened his binder.

\-----

The party died off about midnight, guests slowly making their excuses for leaving.

Tom groaned silently as the last left.

“I’m heading to bed,” was all Kjellberg said.

Tom sighed and began walking the house. He’d need to make sure it was actually empty and everyone had actually left and that all the doors and windows were locked before he could retire for the night himself.

When he got to the office from earlier, PJ Liguori was sitting in the chair.

“Um-” Tom blinked, instantly looking for Maron.

“Take a seat, Fischbach.” Liguori gestured at the other side of the desk.

“You’re not supposed to be here.”

“I mean, this was Felix’s idea.” Liguori shrugged. “Otherwise I’d have gone home about three hours ago.”

“He didn’t say anything about this.”

Liguori leaned back in the chair, lips pursing. “No, I suppose he wouldn’t have.” He shrugged. “You can stand, if you really want.”

Tom crossed his arms.

The two of them stared at each other for a minute, then Liguori sighed. “I want you to know Mark was one of the best men I’ve ever known.”

Tom blinked, and his arms dropped.

“I’m sorry, what?”

“Your brother.” Liguori leaned forward and put both hands on the desk. “He was a good man. I’ll miss seeing him around.”

“How do you know him?”

Liguori hummed slightly.

“He invited me to play at a place called Freddy’s...oh it must have been close to a year ago, now.”

Freddy’s. The name of the speakeasy.

“You... knew him from the speakeasy.”

Liguori dipped his head.

“Do you know what happened that night? The night of the fire, I mean?”

Liguori shook his head. 

“I left in early December, on less than amicable terms. The last I saw of Mark were glimpses as I ran from a gun pointed at my face. I don’t know what caused the fire, or who would have burned it down, or anything past that early December night.”

Some of Kjellberg’s past words bubbled to memory, and Tom looked at Liguori in a new light. He knew that night. That was the night he’d had to take Mark to the hospital for a broken rib. Kjellberg had said that was the result of a member of the Irish mob pulling a gun on a member of the Italian mafia.

Liguori was mafia?

Well, the name kind of gave it away, but still. He didn’t  _ seem _ like mafia.

“...do you know anyone who might know more about what happened?”

Liguori tapped his fingers on the desk, then dipped his head. “A few come to mind, but... it’s not my place to say who they are, at least not right now. Not knowing what I do.” He hummed slightly. “One day, perhaps.”

“I’ll find out.”

“I’m sure you will, Fischbach.” Liguori stood, and Maron seemed to almost materialize out of the shadows. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to get home.”

And he walked out.

Tom blinked and stared at the now-empty chair. 

There was more information out there. Maybe witnesses, maybe someone who’d been there that night.

He would find out who else worked with Mark at the speakeasy.

He would find out what kind of man his brother had become.

**Author's Note:**

> For those who didn't see the tumblr post: we're planning on releasing one of these one-shots every 1st and 15th of the month for the next several months. If we think of other things to put in, we'll release those too, but you can count on one every 1st and 15th of the month.


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